


poster

by cowboyflesh (cowboymeat), lambchops (lambmeat)



Category: Cyberpunk 2077 (Video Game)
Genre: Accidental Breeding, Aftercare, Degradation, Dominant Bottom, Edgeplay, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Submissive Johnny Silverhand, Topping from the Bottom, Trans Male V (Cyberpunk 2077)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29436828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboymeat/pseuds/cowboyflesh, https://archiveofourown.org/users/lambmeat/pseuds/lambchops
Summary: “You cum, and we’re done.”“A-ah…” Johnny starts, crawling onto his elbows to watch the younger’s hand work his release closer to the surface. “Wait— shit…”“Beg. Or I’ll leave you here to cry like the bitch you are.”“F—uck. V, please,” he finally whimpers. The final blow to his ego is all he needs to spread his legs further, though his range of motion is limited by V’s weight anchoring him down. At the merc’s mercy. He toys cruelly with the rockstar’s heavy cock. Each touch feeling more like an arc of electricity than the soothing sweep of flesh.
Relationships: Johnny Silverhand/Male V, Johnny Silverhand/V
Comments: 6
Kudos: 74





	poster

**Author's Note:**

> cw: cock, cunt, folds, hole used for V

The novelty of a constant set of hands on him was quick to wear off. From the forceful break of V’s voice during a vital interrogation to harassment during firefights— he’s tired of Johnny’s shit. At his breaking point. 

He’s insatiable, groping at his cock at any free moment between spitting snark and jerking himself off over his ego. Perched in corners with his pants tented, dissecting V like a piece of meat over the tops of his shades. If he’s feeling bold, pulls himself free of his boxers and openly spills pre until V can’t focus on his conversation or his drink. 

More than enough encounters ended with him flooded in a seedy bar bathroom, left high and dry with the rockstar’s cum leaking out and staining his jeans. Shame staining his cheeks. 

The next time Johnny decides to drop by— this time, for once, in the comfort of his own apartment with the TV blaring and a buffet of takeout spread over the coffee table— V grits his teeth. Only ever shows up when he wants something. 

“V,” Johnny announces himself. Where he had the element of surprise before, the merc has begun to sense when he’s about to make an appearance. Tugs at his temples and weighs on his skull like a looming human migraine, prickles at his brain.

“What?” he grumbles back. Crosses his arms over his stomach as he shoots a glare at Silverhand. He’s already made himself comfortable, boots propped up beside the military graveyard of boxes on the table. 

“Always know how to make me feel welcome,” Johnny audibly rolls his eyes. Casts his gaze toward the blue glow filling the modest room as it flickers from scene-to-scene, acting like he’s not about to hound V for the chance to get his dick wet. 

V huffs through his nose, pointedly focusing his gaze on the meaningless garbage being pumped at him through the screen. Maybe if he ignored him long enough, he’d go away. Ha. 

“You actually like this shit?” Johnny gripes after a mere few minutes of flatly-delivered dialogue. He motions to the screen in a sweeping gesture, melodramatic as always. 

“About as much as I like you putting your shit-kickers next to my food. Gonna beg for my cunt yet, or is this your idea of foreplay?”

Johnny scoffs, eyes rolling before he turns to look at V.

“As if I gotta do anything to get you waving your cunt in my face,” he bites, dragging from his cigarette before flicking the half-smoked stick somewhere into the apartment, “fuckin’ whore.”

All V can do is take a deep breath and hold it for a second, anger making his blood pressure rise like the sun in timelapse. Higher, hotter, he grinds his teeth and pointedly bites his tongue. He can feel the rockerboy’s scorching gaze boring into the side of his face, searching for a reaction that leans in his direction.

Then the hand on the back of the couch that had been idly tapping out melodies finds the nape of V’s neck, fingernails carding through the short buzz up to the crop of hair on top. V tries not to lean into it, give in to the gentle nagging telling him to just tip his head back and accept the gesture of domesticity he desperately wants, because he knows that Johnny’s digging at his brain, picking out what will get him to what he wants.

Johnny removes himself from the coffee table, phasing through the cardboard boxes and setting his boots flat on the floor. V thinks that that’s that, Johnny has taken the hint that he’s very much not interested in letting Johnny get his cock wet and dip, until he feels the other’s knee knock against his own as he splays his legs.

Of course.

His other hand is loosely cupping himself in his jeans, comfortably settled in the creases of the pleather, absently stroking the seam of his zipper. Thinking, something unusual for him to do, seeing as his entire personality is built from the ground up on the foundations of _action first, ask questions never._

The easy warmth not unlike sunshine on a wintry day recedes from the nape of his neck and reappears on his thigh. He doesn’t even look, just heaves a sigh laden with resentment and irritation. Can never take no for an answer, never can care about whether or not V has had a particularly taxing day, only cares about getting his rocks off. Like snow on a car accident, compounding his misery.

But he’s warm, the direction of the wind changing as the hand simply stays where it is; comfortable in the middle of his thigh, settled on top. Doesn’t make V shiver or tense against his stern conditions, and the merc finds himself even relaxing after a couple minutes of peace.

A mistake that was, as Johnny takes it as permission to ghost his hand further between his thighs. Still tepid, not seizing like a cold snap sinking into his body and stealing his breath. So he doesn’t mind it. Anything that isn’t Johnny crudely slicking himself against V’s cunt before pushing in without warning is better than the aforementioned.

“Johnny,” V says sternly as the rockerboy gropes the meat of his thigh in languid kneads.

“‘Lax,” Silverhand says, voice easy and nonplussed in the face of the merc’s vexation. Huffing, ready to grab Johnny’s hand and break it if he so much as looks at him the wrong way, V eases back into the couch cushions.

Casually as changing lanes, the ringed fingers shift down to work against the hard seam of V’s jeans. Almost— _almost_ — reverent as the friction builds. It’d be a boldfaced lie to say it isn’t catching the merc’s attention, caught on the novelty of softer, slower touches rather than the usual hungry and uncaring ones he gets when Johnny isn’t under his scrutiny. Never been told no before. 

Johnny leans into V’s space more intently, his brow furrowed just-so in mild concentration. Were it not for his cock hardening and swelling with the introduction of his slick distracting him, V might be more mindful of the ghost of warmth licking at his side. A warmth one would expect from an overtaxed computer fan rather than the simulated flesh-and-blood that partially wraps around him as he sighs against his cheek. 

“Could get used to this,” V murmurs, eyes hooded as he rolls his hips lightly against the firm presses and talented fingers beginning to tease at the frayed edges of his willpower. Doggedly searching for the one thread to make the whole cloth unravel. 

Johnny merely huffs out an approximation of a chuckle, tilting his head around the curtain of black hair framing his face to nose at V’s neck. Pressing at his pulse point. 

He blindly finds the tab of V’s zipper, tugging at it with a buzz. The hiss of the merc’s sigh could be heard from the stratosphere— a warning for him to tread lightly. For once, it would be about _his_ pleasure, not Silverhand’s. 

Undoubtedly, the exact intent of the exhale is communicated through their bond, and Johnny is unnervingly cautious in his advances. Where he’d be jerking V’s cock unceremoniously and impaling him, he now grinds the heel of his palm against the swell of the merc’s heat. Treating him to the admiration he’d share only with a particularly sweet bass— no one and nothing else. 

“V,” Johnny sighs against his throat, drawing in a great breath as his tongue kisses at the sweat-tangy skin. Sizing him up. The merc’s hand snaps to Silverhand’s wrist, nearly breaking it with the force. 

“You’re gonna listen to me,” V barks. He can feel an echo of the stone-drop of arousal shooting straight to Johnny’s cock from the change in tone. “Or you’re gonna have to find a joytoy desperate enough to let you fuck them.”

Plenty of acidic words rear on Johnny’s tongue, ready to spit, but he bites them back. The desire to empty his balls deep inside V greater than the blow to his ego the loss of control rends. All he can do is listen— hand slipping under the soft fabric of V’s boxers with due tenderness— lest he lose the appendage. 

String-calloused fingers draw through the ample slick deliciously, spreading the growing mess and easing the leisurely pace he uses to stroke at V’s little cock. He finds himself pleasantly surprised as the other man’s hand sweeps into his hair, tangling into the locks as a makeshift set of reigns. 

V looks almost sleepy, watching with half-lidded eyes. His head dips to the side, allowing Johnny to press his lips against his skin without interruption, seeing as it doesn’t detract from the gentle pace he’s using to jerk V off. His tongue draws hot against his throat, following the vein pumping heat through his body before kissing beneath his ear.

Groaning unabashed, V momentarily stops Johnny to wriggle free from his boots, jeans, underwear, and all, until he’s only clad in his wifebeater. Johnny sits, patient enough through the brief interim, but his haste is quick to catch a reprimand as he dives back in with a low noise himself.

A firm hand on his chest stops him where he tries to crowd V against the side of the sofa. Looking down at the merc with a cross of frustration and confusion etched into his features, he tries to discern what he did wrong now to warrant the abrupt halt. V is staring up at him with a low-burning glower, contemplating something. Then his gaze darts down to Johnny’s cock, straining against the front of his jeans noticeably, before trailing back up to his guarded eyes.

The hand drops to tug him forward by the belt, demanding and authoritative, and Johnny eagerly moves into the space between his thighs. Given all of V’s harsh boundaries outlined in thick cement walls, he seems to have opened the door real quick to let Johnny get to the part he loves best. A self-satisfied smirk plays across his lips as the other man works his belt open and opens his fly for him, freeing his cock to the tepid apartment air where it twitches and beads with precum.

“You’re fuckin’ easy,” V scoffs at the sight, thumb smearing through the bubble of precum clinging to his slit. 

He looks almost bored as he handles Johnny, a far cry from the look of wonder he had when they first slept together. Hands familiar with the rockerboy intimately, he easily wraps around his length and gives a lazy tug from root to tip just to watch more collect in its place.

“Says you,” Johnny tries to bite back, his comment falling flat and sounding lame as his cock jerks in V’s grip and weeps down onto his stomach. 

Truthfully, the impenetrable aura of nonchalance and even boredom, as though he were merely doing chores or watching the news and not jerking somebody off, gets to Johnny more than it should. Makes his cheeks blush rich with red, filling out to his ears, and bleeding down his neck as V toys with the head of his cock. He plays with the sensitive region of his length until the rockstar is biting his tongue and struggling to regulate his breathing.

Soon he works to the rhythm he knows Johnny likes best, with slow, tight pumps of his fist and a tweak of his wrist over the tip. His other hand idly pets his raphe, thumb running up the vein of his length and back down in time with his movements.

His hair falls around his face again— apart from where V holds it— as he drops his head in the face of the climax rushing tsunami-quick towards him. 

A growl from V snaps his attention back to the merc’s face, tearing it away from his imminent release. What he lacked in stamina he more than made up for in refractory time. 

“What?” Johnny grunts. Has half the mind to shove V’s hands away and take what he wants, never being one for patience. Patience is a virtue, and he’s never considered himself virtuous. 

“Never said you could cum,” V responds casually. Clearly unimpressed by the rockerboy’s lack of self-control. Though it’s not exactly part of the job description.

“Fuck you,” he grits out, his words lacking any teeth as V’s fingers pinch the base of his cock. He’s got no control over the situation unless he wants to end up neglected and painfully hard. 

“You wish.”

V pulls his head back taut, scalp aflame with the tug-irritated follicles screaming for relief. His neck is bare now, vulnerable to the slight chill of the room without being washed in their mutual heat. 

A pitiful, hushed groan boils at the back of Johnny’s throat. 

“You cum, and we’re done.”

“Fine,” he sighs. An involuntary shudder rumbles up through his shoulders, earning him a sickly sweet smile from the man beneath him. “Hurry up.”

V chuckles, maybe a bit too meanly, as he grasps one of Johnny’s hands and guides it back toward the growing heat between his legs. Even does him the favor of pressing the blunt fingertips against his hole, just barely. 

Bites back a gratifying moan as Johnny gets to work immediately, first with two fingers, then three as they press past the sloppy tightness and graze against his sweet spot. Teasingly. Johnny’s left grasping for any sense of dominance as V’s hand returns to work, pumping him loosely— just enough to keep the stream of pre coming. 

Just on the border of too much, rather than well over it, the digits fill V wonderfully. Stretching and pressing, Silverhand earns himself gratuitous amounts of slick as V’s walls flutter and tense around him. A fourth finger is added, and V shoots him a look of warning. 

Until that willpower dissolves. Under the careful touches, knuckles bulging out and sloppily fucking his hole as Johnny works ever-deeper, V melts. 

“Pretty noises,” Johnny praises— perhaps the nicest thing he’s said during sex outside of their foray into party drugs. “Like it when I fuck your cunt?”

“Shut up,” V orders halfheartedly, face slacking as his body responds to the comfortable pressure. Always preferred it a little slow, but if Johnny wasn’t one-track-minded before, it intensified tenfold when it comes to the prospect of a warm hole to fuck. Any prep was for _his_ pleasure, ultimately. 

V just couldn’t let that happen. 

Isn’t their first venture into more aggressive foreplay, with V hyper-aware of Silverhand’s inclination to shove his whole hand inside of him. 

The broad strip of palm stretching his hole is nothing but a dull ache, having beared the near-agonizing girth of the rockerboy’s added thumb before. That time was the only time he’s seen Johnny slow down for a moment; just a glimmer of concentrated concern crossing his features as he told V to breathe and relax, helping his body accept the stretch with unfathomable patience.

“Slow,” he demands, looking down through his lashes. Johnny returns the glare, narrowing his eyes as he begrudgingly heeds his words. Curling and petting V’s walls, he pulls all the way out to the tips of his fingers before pushing back in. 

“Like that, princess?” Johnny taunts as V’s legs give an involuntary shiver. 

Doesn’t respond to the teasing, but instead takes Johnny in hand with the intent to break him. 

Tightening his fist and doubling his comparatively leisurely pace, he feels Johnny’s hand falter where he’s pressed palm-deep inside V’s gushing cunt. The look of pained concentration as he restrains himself from fucking into V’s fist suits him.

But a single scrap of self-restraint, disintegrating with each pump of V’s fist, still stubbornly clings to his higher mind. He opens his mouth, ready to warn V before it’s too late, but all that escapes is a breathy, rattling sigh. 

At once, V completely removes his hand and easily lays it across his lap. The total loss of stimulation leaves Johnny throbbing, cock angrily weeping onto his hand where he’s nigh-fist-deep in V. The rockerboy growls through his teeth, ragged and wet, as he’s forced to come back down like a junkie dumped in ice water. 

Serves him right for getting cocky. 

Closer to a whipped dog than anything, Johnny doesn’t even struggle as V grabs his wrist and slowly, gingerly, removes the rockerboy’s offensive fingers from his hole. Denying him the simple pleasure of even feeling his cunt. 

“Lay back.”

A glimmer of hope arises, a flicker in Johnny’s eye when he thinks the teasing is done and over with. He expects the merc’s thighs to frame him and to feel him sink down onto his length, do all the leg work after inconveniencing him thus far. 

What he gets instead is ripped from the arm of the couch by the hips when he doesn’t respond quickly enough. A startled noise escapes him, and a look of angry indignation paints his features before his face falls slack. 

V hauls his lithe legs over his own, arranging Johnny flush to him so he has unfettered access to his weakest points. Without an ounce of kindness or mercy in his gleaming eyes, he wraps his hand around Johnny’s cock and jerks him off. Quick and dirty, _just_ how he likes it best. 

“A-ah, V…” Johnny starts, crawling onto his elbows to watch the younger’s hand work his release closer to the surface. “Wait— shit…”

“What, that’s it?” V says deadpan. His hand stops, and the absence of any emotion except dissatisfaction makes Johnny’s face burn with shame. Johnny tries to say something, anything to recover his bravado and retaliate, but he only gets a moment to breathe before V starts up again. 

“Fuckin’ pathetic.”

A leg kicks, foot digging into the couch cushion as terrible pleasure shoots through his wired nerves. Falling flat to the couch, a hitching gasp is the only sound he can make as he draws closer and closer. His end now seems less like the sharp crest of a hill and more of a great canyon, infinitely deep and unkind. 

He’s not even sure what he wants anymore, his mind spinning like a whirlpool of lust and burning desire. Foremost is the rampant need to cum, to relieve the maddening ache between his legs that V finds sick joy in stoking like gas on an out of control fire. 

“Asshole,” he sputters, barely able to coherently form the syllables with his mind drawn in pinhole focus to his agonizing end. His nails dig painfully into his own thighs as he holds back— borderline fearful of what V would do to him if his wavering self-control finally broke. 

His swirling thoughts are forced sober again with sickening inertia as V’s open hand connects with his cheek. Any carefully curated aloofness is thrown to the wind, incapable of withstanding the throwing and bucking of V’s unbridled dominance. He openly groans, turning his gaze up towards V in a silent plead for mercy. Any indication that this would turn in his favor. 

He doesn’t get one. 

“Shut the fuck up.”

Johnny lets his head sag, unable to support the weight of his skull anymore. All of his efforts are devoted to curling his toes and straining against his natural inclination.

“You want it, you’re going to beg.”

“I don’t—”

“Beg. Or I’ll leave you here to cry like the bitch you are.”

“F—uck. V, please,” he finally whimpers. The final blow to his ego is all he needs to spread his legs further, though his range of motion is limited by V’s weight anchoring him down. At the merc’s mercy. 

“Tell me what you want, Johnny.”

“You.”

“Johnny.”

“Wanna— fuck the shit outta you.”

“Poetic,” he spits. The degradation layered thick, he toys mercilessly with the rockstar’s heavy cock. Each touch feeling more like an arc of electricity than the soothing sweep of flesh. 

Air rushes in where V once was, like a rush of ice water as the vacuum fills. He rises to his feet and stalks to the bed, casting one more disgusted glance back towards Johnny. 

“Come here.”

He could swear he’s never seen Johnny more cooperative in his life, suddenly cognizant enough to shoot off the couch. His cock bounces between his legs with each stride, angry red and too heavy to snap up to his stomach anymore. 

From V’s vantage point, now laying on his belly and throwing his head over his shoulder, he can see how deeply his words have struck Silverhand. Already, there’s a sheen of sweat on his skin, catching the low LED lights as they bathe him in blues and pinks. 

Maybe now he can see the appeal that Johnny does in absolutely devouring his partner— with how pathetic and broken-willed he already is, he wants nothing more than to break him down further. Wants to pick at the bare nerves leftover, ‘til Johnny can do nothing but whine and plead and fuck into him. 

His own cock twitches at the thought. 

Silverhand eagerly slots between his legs, hands near-reverent as they come to rest on the swell of his ass. The merc prickles at the touch, expecting him to snatch up control while he has the chance. But he’s better trained than that now. Johnny waits for direction, arousal roiling just beneath the surface and ready to boil over entirely. 

“Just the tip,” V instructs him, watching him carefully for the slightest hint of disobedience, “or is that gonna be too much for you?”

All he gets is a pitiful glower and an attempt at a biting comeback. 

“Classic corpo cunt.”

“Yeah, and you’re about to cry for it,” V practically snarls, having half the mind to tilt his hips away the moment he feels the rockerboy’s blunt head press between his folds, the greatest retaliation he can imagine at that moment. 

But he sits still because he isn’t that cruel. That and the knot of arousal sits heavy in his stomach still, tangled in his guts and halting anything that might deny him his own relief any longer. 

Stifling whatever encouraging noises should arise, V bites his tongue and instead pours his attention onto Johnny. Just the barest taste of what he had been pining for, chasing rabidly, makes him sigh shakily. Has to teeth his lower lip and shut his eyes to remain still, not give in to the nagging to just sink in to the hilt seeing as he can now, whenever he wants. Can take what he wants, reparations for all the cruelty and mind games Silverhand had indulged in since the advent of their unlikely relationship. 

The ghost of a whimper passes his lips as V shifts, inches forward just to let Johnny slip free. 

“Try again.”

He does— almost delicately, different than the previous attempt full of raw need and frantic desperation. 

“You’re lucky I don’t just fuck your mouth,” V hisses as he finally relaxes and allows just a couple of precious inches to sink into him, “you think you’re gonna make me cum on your cock?”

“Please…” Johnny pants, stockstill lest V deprive him again.

“Fuckin’ pathetic. You’re a bitch for my cunt,” V continues, slowly rolling his hips and working less than half of Johnny’s length in his heat. 

Johnny can’t even think, overwhelmed in the glorious heat of V’s body, the satiation from the scraps he's been given. Teaching him a firm lesson in gratitude, as he minds his manners and doesn’t talk back. 

“Careful— gonna,” Johnny stutters, and V can feel him twitch desperately in his cunt. His grip on the merc’s hips tightens as the man bites his lip hard enough to break the skin. Fighting against every urge inside of himself to push balls deep and fill V up. 

“Out,” V orders— as much as it pains him to deprive himself. Immediately, Johnny does what he’s told, with no hesitation. 

The rockerboy feels tears pricking at his eyes, and all he can do is pray that V can’t see. Pray that he can’t tell how whipped he actually is— how far he’s willing to go just for a sliver of V’s attention. He bites the tears back, delicate flesh parting easily under the pressure of his incisors and the tang of metal meeting his tongue. 

A rope of pre (and perhaps more) decorates V’s thigh, and the smaller man whips back to look at him. In all his defiled glory. Impulse and carnal greed given semi-physical form, and all he can do is swallow his arousal and wait to be allowed V’s tight heat. 

“Fuckin’ dog. All you can think about is how bad you wanna fuck me. How much you need my cunt.”

“ _V_ ,” Johnny pleads, finally taking the initiative to rut his cock between the merc’s folds, to feel the hardness against his own. 

For once, V doesn’t stop him. It’d be too cruel at this point— and the little shocks of pleasure it sends delving into his abdomen are a plus. He heaves his own sigh as he reaches down and lines Johnny up for him, giving a little nod of approval. 

“Can I?”

“Give it to me.”

The barest hint of his former self returns in the devilish little smile that graces his lips, painted red with his own self-control. With permission, he slides home and begins rolling his hips. 

Though verbally muted, V’s own arousal is plain in the amount of slick that gushes out as Johnny’s cock fills him up. Even with the background chatter of the television, his noises are obscene. 

Controlled at first, Silverhand’s thrusts grow quicker and more animalistic as the warm throb of V’s cunt welcomes his length. He has no reason to hold back with sighs and gasps now, not when he’s got what he’s wanted this whole time— could moan like a BD star for all he cares himself. 

“So— so good when you listen to me. Gotta keep your leash tight,” V stutters, half-muffled by the bundle of pillows supporting his head. 

Hands warm and steel-cold alike settle on his shoulder blades, stabilizing his body as Johnny fucks into him rabidly. Then the pressure becomes immobilizing, pinning V down as the rockerboy’s hands settle on the backs of his arms. He has half the mind to snap at Johnny, tell him to keep his hands to himself, but the words get caught in his throat as the older lays into him like his life depends on it.

Groaning wetly, Johnny can’t help it as overwhelmed tears slip down his cheeks and fall onto the small of V’s back. It doesn’t even phase him that V will only weaponize him crying over his cunt, too caught up in his devastating end to care. 

“F-fuck—” Johnny whimpers, too sensitive from the merciless edging to last any longer. His thrusts grow erratic, slamming into V hard enough to make the bedsprings squeal and displace the mattress. Doubling over, long hair falling around his face and tickling the back of V’s neck, his reedy gasping and panting turns into growling groans of borderline agony as that twelve-ton stone weighing heavy in his guts finally breaks through.

V doesn’t realize until it’s too late that Johnny’s not going to pull out, fixated on the heavy pounding of Johnny striking his sweet spot again and again and the toe-curling pleasure of his cock stretching and filling him out. As the rockerboy’s hips stutter one, then twice, V’s eyes snap open out of his blissful haze to shoot Johnny a look of seething anger and disbelief.

Silverhand knows better than to finish inside him, well-aware that V isn’t comfortable with it despite the lack of danger involved with simulated cum. He’s fiercely stubborn about that rule. Never really liked his reasons for lingering reservations about letting anyone finish inside him even after Viktor did away with the possibility of getting properly knocked up.

One-track-minded, Johnny hones in on the animalistic need to fill the warm hole with his seed, empty his balls in the body under him, and not stop until he has nothing left in him. 

“Don’t—”

Johnny groans, loud and guttural, as he slams home.

“You fuckin’...” V trails off, baring his teeth as cum paints his inside pearly-white, “bastard.” He spits the word, but his voice falls flat in the way of rage he wants to project. It warms him from the inside out, and the throbbing of Johnny’s cock as he empties his load makes him shudder.

The man above him is shivering, arms trembling where they still hold V down, pleasure rippling through his body in waves stronger than he’s ever felt in his life. Drool trails from his lips as his face goes slack in mindless ecstasy, thoughtlessly rutting his cum deeper into the younger’s body.

Moaning into the pillow, V gives in and his body sags into the sheets. Thinking he’ll be generous and let Johnny get away with this one offense, V encourages him by tilting his hips up and arching his back, pushing his ass against the rockerboy’s hips in a bid to hurry him along.

Give an inch and he’ll take a mile.

To his surprise, Johnny draws back out only to snap forward again. It drives a startled gasp out of V as he seems to have found his second wind. His cunt, sloppy with slick and cum, creates enough noise gripping Johnny’s cock to embarrass his higher mind if it weren’t churning to a stop. 

The addition of his own cum into the mix drives Johnny out of his mind, nails digging into the soft muscle of V’s arms as he hunches over his body like a dog over his bitch. Panting ragged and harsh against the shell of his ear, Johnny buries his face against V’s feverishly hot skin as he pounds into the soft, supple body willing to take his cum.

“Fuck, fuck— gonna— knock you up,” Johnny growls, albeit with a hint of a whimper as he’s still recovering from being blindsided by his first head-spinning climax while confronting another. 

He’s openly drooling and panting as his hindbrain overpowers any overstimulation he might be feeling in the moment. Nothing is as powerful as the need to pump V full, over and over, until he’s overflowing. He unashamedly and openly moans, joining the symphony of protesting springs and the unrelenting rhythm of his hips slamming against V’s thighs. 

The long strokes he initially favored dissolve into shallow, mean little thrusts as he chases his next high, mindless and ravenous. Draws blood as his fingernails tear against the soft skin of V’s biceps. 

“Christ— little bitch can’t even last a minute,” V bites between the staccato moans being punched out of him. His own fingers tangle in the sheets, toes curling as Silverhand incessantly pounds into his hole. He’s barely able to hold back from singing the rockerboy’s praise for the whole complex to hear, scarcely hanging onto the faraway incentive of deflating Johnny’s ego. 

Unfortunately for V, Johnny doesn’t have anything to prove anymore. Stripped of his layers of narcissism and maintained coolness, all he cares to do is bury himself deep inside the smaller man. 

He’s not even graced with a warning— apart from the slap of Johnny’s thighs against him increasing in force— as the older man floods him over again. Only able to figure it out as his abused hole spills back, dripping down onto his hypersensitive cock. 

Silverhand downright shouts as he’s cast over the edge again, shivering and shuddering as he adds to the mess. Pants and heaves for breath as V seizes in climax from the stretch of his girth and warmth of his cum, pleasure driving like stakes into his abdomen. 

Weak little groans and whines fall freely from Johnny’s lips as sweat pools in the hollow of his throat and the dips of his clavicle. Surely earned himself hell for directly disobeying V, but he sincerely cannot care. 

At least not until the merc forcibly pushes him out, kicking at him until he’s practically off of the bed. 

When V rolls over, he looks downright deadly with the angry crease of his eyebrows and pursed lips, about ready to say something.

To Johnny, he looks almost beautiful like that; body glistening with sweat and cunt dripping with both of their bodily fluids, catching the shine of his LED lights decorating his bed. Looks something out of porn, how gorgeous he is even in rightful anger.

Brain too full of post-orgasm relief and high off his adrenaline and hormones, Johnny doesn’t even process V moving until his head is whipped to the side, cheek stinging with the force of the slap. It knocks something back into place, as when he turns to V once more, a hand coming to cradle the feverish skin. Clarity returning to those dark eyes.

That, and a look of true hurt.

Johnny knows what he did to warrant it, but it still struck a discordant note like a bass string being snapped mid-show. The whole gig shudders to a halt at that, a thousand eyes on him, and he feels small.

V immediately swallows the harsh words he’s ready to spit in the rockerboy’s face, not expecting such a pitiful look. Perhaps he crossed a boundary, striking Johnny at his most vulnerable state and in such a headspace where he actually yearns for V’s approval. He chews his lip as Johnny settles, finding the strength in his muscle once more and recovering from the waves of trembling that had overtaken him at his peak.

The moment the weight on the bed starts to alleviate as Johnny removes his knee, V finds his tongue.

“C’mere.”

The rockstar gives pause, uncertain and now hesitant to return to V, but with the gesture of outstretched arms, he caves and crawls back onto the bed. He finds comfort in the warm cage of V’s arms as he allows himself to be pulled down flush to the merc’s chest. Eyes falling shut at the sweep of V’s thumb, clearing away tears that may still try to escape, he lets out a lone sigh and shuts out the attempts of domestic intimacy by burying his head into the other’s neck.

“Did good,” V says quietly, lips in Johnny’s thick head of hair.

Johnny doesn’t respond at first. Not until V gently guides his head up again. He plants a kiss at the corner of his mouth, avoiding his lips properly as one avoids looking at the sun. He just isn’t sure how Johnny would react, considering it’s the first time he’s seen Silverhand in this sort of headspace. 

He rises to that, pecking at the seam of the merc’s lips. For once, he permits the show of concern on V’s part rather than shoving it away with a cruel rejection. 

Sex in and of itself is not foreign to Johnny, but the tenderness in the aftermath is. It’s alien, makes guilt sink into his chest for warranting the concern in the first place. And nothing makes him lash out quite as much as guilt. Nothing makes him angrier, flares his temper more than forcing his emotional burden onto his output. 

In his mind, it should be a physical release and nothing more. With no deeper meaning behind it. 

But V shifts that paradigm, a natural result of the innate and inseparable knot binding them together—they have no option of obscuring their true emotions. It’s impossible to repress those feelings as they flow freely over their connection. They bleed into each other like watercolor, birthing a more complicated and rich relation than any two individuals could hope to achieve independently. What V feels, Johnny does. 

The warmth of affection laves over the artificial rage of V’s dominance. As much as Silverhand might want to deny it, his only desire is to curl up inside that feeling, bask in nothing but that sunbeam of reluctant adoration until he melts away. He doesn’t need to say it; V knows.

**Author's Note:**

> [lambchop's twitter](https://twitter.com/commanderbait)   
>  [cowboyflesh’s twitter](https://twitter.com/silverdynes)


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